I Lost Her in the Quiet

I had my own choices
once,
in a new and unfamiliar world.

I was allowed to speak —
to name my fears,
to listen to the quiet alarms inside me.

Then something larger moved in.

A force.
A season.
A life stage.
A voice that wasn’t mine.

Maybe a bully.
Maybe time.
Maybe I still don’t know
what the hell happened.

I only know
I lost her.

Buried under expectations,
under survival,
under a pile of things I never chose
but learned to carry.

Is this it?

Fighting every day
to keep the peace
with too many branches pulling at me —

while secretly
wanting to burn the whole damn tree
just to see what’s left standing.

Again!

I reached forward
to take the hand—
a saving hand of encouragement,
of strength.

Carrying doubt in every cell,
wrapped in pity I mistook for protection,
I pulled away.
I let go.

Again.

I reached once more,
searching for the offering—
the gift that promised self-confidence,
the place where I might finally arrive.

Fear whispered consequences.
Uncertainty rehearsed failure.
And again,
I stepped back.

Again.

Then I stood.

I stopped chasing the hand
and let it come to me.
I allowed myself to be lifted,
guided forward,
held steady.

I made it.

And now I am here—
again—
with a hand up,
not a hand out.

From the Pieces

The pieces lie scattered at my feet.

Please—
do not hand them to me.

Let me reach for them
when I am ready.

Do not give up on me yet.
I am still here.

I will learn the shape of what broke.
I will take my time
sorting what can be kept,
what must be reimagined.

Do not sweep them away.
Do not hide them.
Do not decide their fate for me.

The mess is mine.
I own every fragment before me.

There is strength in these hands—
enough to build
from what remains.

And if time runs thin,
if the clock dares to stop,
I will still do this—

making something truer,
something stronger,
from the pieces
on the ground.

She Catches Butterflies

Her wonder is compared to that of an adventurous child. 

Tiptoes among the young and old.

She sees the vastness of pain and reason. 

Chasing butterflies for answers among the endless winds. 

She stops at the edge, terrified to take the leap. 

Working hard to catch up to her passions. 

In dreams, she catches butterflies until her reality allows her to take flight.

Unspoken Return

The atmosphere vibrated
with silent welcomes—
a knowing without words.

Welcome back.
It has been a while.

Pieces were left here
by an unspoken agreement with the past,
waiting without judgment,
without demand.

There was a pull—
knowing without knowing why.

The present.
The here.
The now.

Colliding gently
with what was once set aside.

The atmosphere became visible,
thick with recognition,
soft with permission.

And the pieces—
no longer scattered—
found their way back together.

Beginning or End

On the hill above the town,

where every street still knows her name, she stands with a bottle of water twisting the cap as the past flickers below.

The town that raised her. The streets that shaped her. The life she once fit into.

She stills herself, as if motion alone might decide everything.

The sky deepens. Evening holds its breath.

For a moment, she lets go of every story she’s carried— every expectation, every weight mistaken for destiny.

Darkness comes, not as an ending, but as a pause.

A surrender to not knowing.

Is this the beginning, or the end— or the quiet space
where choosing finally becomes possible?

PUT THE RED HEELS ON!

Yes, me in red high heels sitting at my desk! So I paused and asked myself, "what am I doing?"

I had to take a 'wtf' break; I needed to take some time and figure out what was making me so unsuccessful.

 I started reading Rachel Hollis and others like Jack Canfield, Danielle LaPorte, and Ali Brown and signed up for a business webinar. 

Drowning in inspiration and advice, my "ah ha" moment, or what I call my "holy crap" moment, started to come clear to me. Not that I did not know this already, that I lacked self-confidence, that I sabotaged everything with my fears, this was not new to me, but the fact that I was waiting for something to change it was.

 Not sure if I was waiting for a lightning bolt to jolt my life into a new direction, but whatever I was waiting for was not going to appear, especially with me shutting the door on change every time it occurred.

I took time to reflect and stood back from it all before the pieces started coming together. Now in no way am I where I want to be, but the door is open for new and exciting things to enter my life.

One thing that holds me back is the lack of self-confidence; it is more an ingrained negative self-perception that most likely has some deep seeded root that someday will surface.

The first thing that sparked was when I was listening to an interview that led to the question: 'When was the last time you felt terrific? My answer was.......

First, I wouldn't say I like shoes and shopping, and I often wonder if I am another breed of woman. I like simple, or at least that is what I thought before. Friends had invited us out for an evening of dancing at a club. You see high heels on women always; it is expected, but not for this chick. My friend convinced me I needed to let loose, have some fun, get dressed up, and go all out. So we went shopping, and I purchased high heels.

Totally out of my comfort zone, I turned heads, attention was on me, and I survived. My feet hurt like hell, but I ROCKED.

The second "holy crap" moment came when reading Donald Trump's "Think like a Champion," where the first sentence of a paragraph hit me like a brick. "Your higher self is in direct opposition to your comfort zone" My comfort zone has weighed me down to the point that I become complacent, and as harsh as it seems, I became useless. I was, on the whole, the useless component of making my dreams a reality. As corny as it is, "my higher self was in high heels," Comfort be damned.

My comfort zone was the 'invisible me' blending into my surroundings.

The red shoes remind me that I look fantastic, feel powerful, accomplish goals, and ROCK outside my comfort zone.

THE ROOM WILL STILL EXIST

Depression is Manageable

I have to unlock this door; the latch is rusty, the hinges are weak, and the door is soaked with tears.

My hand shakes with fear; I tremble at the thought of entering. The small, damp, dark room on the other side frightens me. The small space is soundproof, and I fear the door will close behind me, and I will be locked in.

I know it is soundproof; I was locked behind its door in that room, and no one came when I called for help. A silent scream for help was never heard.